


The Country They Call Life

by honeybeezz



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Drowning, F/F, Forgiveness, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Having Faith, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Unreliable Narrator, gratuitous references to northern italy, several gay revenge plots going at once, themes of water/the ocean (obviously), tonight's theme is... themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybeezz/pseuds/honeybeezz
Summary: “Love? She was beyond love. She was beyond death, beyond suffering, beyond living. She had seen everything and nothing, gone to the limits of the world and of herself. She had been created and destroyed and remade. She had loved more than anything, more than anyone, and it had destroyed her.And here she was, as she had always been, at the end of all things. And here, at the end with her…was someone unrecognizable.”In the aftermath of Copley's plot and Booker's betrayal, Quynh emerges from the sea. Nile finds a way to make a difference, Booker finds a way to make amends, and Nicky finds a way to settle scores.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Nile Freeman, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 33
Kudos: 211





	1. The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Let everything happen to you:  
> Beauty and terror.  
> Just keep going. No feeling is  
> Final.  
> Don’t let yourself lose me. 
> 
> Nearby is the country they call  
> Life.  
> You will know it by its seriousness. 
> 
> Give me your hand.
> 
> \--Rainer Maria Rilke, Go to the Limits of Your Longing

It took her 500 years, seven months, eight days, and 6 hours to find them. Well, not _them_ or _her_ but _him_. To find Booker. She didn’t even know there was a younger one until he told her, gasping for air beneath the wet sack on his head. 

“ _Nile._ Her name is Nile. She’s new. She’s with the rest of them.” 

She didn’t want to drown him, not really. But the problem was that he had been a distraction from their search for her. It was clear from his stuttered admissions that he had essentially replaced her in their little group. His emergence as an immortal came on the heels of her disappearance, and in that way he had come to fill the place in their hearts ( _in Andromache’s heart)_ once occupied by her. And that was something she could not tolerate. She would deal with _their_ betrayal later. 

In the time since she had made her way from the sea, it had become clear to her that the world was in so many ways a very different place from the one she had been thrown from all those years ago. There was technology the likes of which she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And there was cruelty the likes of which she very much could. But it was still clear to her that she was not made for this world, and not long for it either. But what else was there left for her to do? 

So, she found him. He wasn’t exactly hard to find. He was clearly a skilled fighter, but he was too aimless and intoxicated and heartbroken to really put in the effort. In another life, she would’ve been insulted. As it was, she dragged him away from his messy exile and into her world, a much more violent but no less shattered sort of life. If she was really being honest with herself (which she wasn’t) he didn’t really do all that much wrong besides show up at the wrong place and the wrong time. But Andromache (now _Andy_ , apparently) and Nicolo and Yusuf (now _Nicky and Joe_ , apparently, too) and this little shit Nile were almost impossible to track. And Booker made a stupid, drunk, angry, heartbroken, perfect target. 

Besides, he was an asshole and a traitor. That was as good an outlet for her as any. 

* * *

One of the many problems that came with being immortal was the question of accountability. Many people acted like Nicky was just a naturally forgiving person, blessed with some sort of grace the likes of which mere mortals could never understand. But the truth of it was just a combination of memory loss, laziness, survival, and the last shattered remnants of his faith. If Nicolo really kept track of everyone that had ever wronged him or Yusuf or the others, he would never be able to rest. There would never be enough justice in the world for some of the things he had witnessed. And no one, no matter the consequences, would have to live with it like he would. 

The secret to immortality was just a lot of emotional triage. Only the most urgent betrayals, the most damaging wounds and crises came to the fore of his mind. He assumed he would simply collapse otherwise. But this was going to be very hard to get across to Nile, who was still operating from a very mortal, if unusually forgiving, frame of mind. 

“Do you really think he needs to be banished for 100 years?” She was sitting across from him in the courtyard of the villa outside Modena he had brought them to, the moonlight reflecting the slight tilt of her brows. She spoke softly and she had a neutral look on her face, but Nicky could see the steel beneath her casual posture. 

“No, but that’s not just my decision to make. We move together and we have to make decisions together.” He gestured to the doors of the villa, where Joe and Andy lay sleeping inside. Nile frowned. 

“I know you had that dream too.” 

He straightened, suddenly, inexplicably defensive. “I did.” 

“Then how can you just ignore it? The suffering I felt from him, it was almost worse than the dreams about Quynh.” 

“I know, Nile, believe me I do. But there has to be consequences, and we can’t risk exposing ourselves any more than we already have. You of all people should know that. And I don’t think that Joe and Andy are having these dreams. What if it’s just him projecting his own emotional pain? What if it’s nothing at all?” 

“And what if it’s not nothing? What if it’s a cry for help, or a warning, or a sign? You told me my dreams of all of you were destiny, so what if it's not a coincidence?" 

Nicky sighed. This was going to be a difficult century. “Nile, I know, but if we look into this on our own it would be a betrayal which we may never recover from. We have to include Joe and Andy, and they will not want to take this any further than absolutely necessary.” 

Nile gave him a small smile. “All I ask is that you let me try.”

* * *

Booker had lost track of how many different ways he had drowned in the few short weeks he had been in Quynh’s custody. He had been waterboarded, slowly drowned, quickly drowned, electrocuted in the water, stabbed in the water, shot in the water. He had died bloody and violent deaths, clean deaths, he had not died at all but very much wished he had. He thought, a little hysterically, that he must have experienced every way to die in these few long weeks. But he was always, always in the water. 

In the moments of respite from his torture, Booker didn’t think about his wife and sons. He didn’t think about Joe and Nicky, or Nile, or even Andy. Instead, he thought about the couple of years he spent as a lifeguard on a beach in Santa Cruz, California. 

He had done it because he wanted to get away. It was the 1970s and he had spent a century and a half dying and fighting and mourning and searching for a person he never knew and would likely never meet. He was sick of living in the shadow of Andy’s long-lived grief. He wanted the space to mourn his own life. To mourn his own wife and sons and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

So, he learned how to swim. 

Booker had always kind of known how to swim. France was a coastal country and his family went to the sea often enough. But he had never learned how to swim the way the residents of Santa Cruz knew how to swim. The ocean there was nothing like the Mediterranean. It was a living, breathing thing. It was frightening and powerful and life-giving. To master the waves here was to affirm your control over your own life, to claim your own place in the world. And so Booker did. He completed the training, he learned how to surf and how to body-surf and body-board and how to swim, really swim. He learned how wear a wet suit, how to recognize a drowning person, an earthquake, a riptide, a killer wave. He learned how to duck under waves and breathe under water. He rescued drowning people from the very same seas that had claimed Quynh. 

He learned to breathe life into other people. He _had_ breathed life into other people. He kept thinking of this boy who looked just like his son. He would come and surf almost every day when the waves allowed for it. He was a strong swimmer and someone that Booker would not usually worry about. But one day, he just had this feeling that something was different. The waves were rough and the beach was nearly empty. Even in the little cove that the surfing instructors used, the waters were towering over them. And then, almost like a hand had turned his head for him, Booker's gaze moved to the other side of the inlet. And there he saw the boy, with his head turned toward the sky like a baby bird. His board was dragging him under by his foot leash, and he desperately fought to keep his head above water. Booker ducked under the waves, getting rolled in the process. But he moved and fought with a purpose he hadn't had in a long time, and after a brief tousle he freed the kid's foot from his board, which was promptly smashed into the rocks near the shore. He had to maneuver to keep the kid's thrashing arms from shoving him under water. When he finally extended his board, the kid latched onto it like it was the last thing left on Earth. Which Booker supposed wasn't so far from the truth. 

As he moved the boy to the shore, he did everything his training told him to do. He moved the kid to his side, he hit him on the back, he pumped his chest and breathed into his mouth. And when the kid finally coughed up sea water right onto his face, Booker had never felt more mortal, or more grateful to be alive. 

And now, as he stood drowning before this woman who had defined his immortal life, he thought about the ocean and the sea, and what it felt like to move beneath and above it, day after day. 

* * *

“Absolutely not!” Joe was standing above his breakfast at the dining room table, indignant to the point of offense the morning after Nile and Nicky’s deliberation. 

“What if he’s trying to get us to help him?” Nile was clearly exhausted from the night before, but her cool determination remained. 

“And what if it’s a trap, like last time?” Andy hadn’t spoken until then, but her voice washed over them, firm and weary. 

Nile and Nicky exchanged glances. Neither of them had told the other two about the more disturbing part of their dreams. About Quynh and the terrifying, wild figure she presented. 

Joe nodded empathically. “Thank you! We already know we can’t trust him. And even if it’s not a trap, we told him he was on his own. Actions have consequences, you know? He didn’t have to sit there in that lab and die, and watch Nicky die, over and over again, just to soothe his own selfish grief.” Yusuf’s eyes glinted with that sheen of anger and fear they sometimes got. It made Nicky’s heart hurt. It made it harder to hold onto his forgiveness and his worry, as it always did. 

“And it makes me suspicious that Joe and I haven’t had these dreams. He knows you two were on board with forgiving him, so of course he would come to you. It’s just a ploy.” Andy had joined Joe on the other side of the kitchen island, leveling them with one of her looks. They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence. 

Later that day, Nile pulled Andy away from the house for a walk, and Nicky took Joe to sit on the banks of the Secchia, deliberating. 

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” Nicky folded himself down on a rock next to Joe, idly moving a stick around the dirt on the small beach. 

Joe smiled in spite of himself. “I do. And I remember you got bit in the ass by the vineyard’s guard dog.”

Nicky laughed. “It’s not my fault I didn’t understand the old man’s Piedmontese!” 

Nicky bumped Joe’s shoulder, and Joe returned his smile, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. They were both quiet for a moment, watching the river. 

“You have to know that this is ludicrous, Nicolo.” Joe was staring very determinedly at a rock alongside the water, his shoulders tense and his hands folded tightly into his lap.

“You didn’t have the dreams I had, Yusuf.”

“You think I don’t understand that he’s suffering? That I don’t mourn for him? I do! But I haven’t forgotten what he put us through.” 

“I know, and I haven’t either. But I can’t accept leaving him to suffer like this, if what I’m seeing is real.”

“But that’s just it, we don’t know if it’s real or not. We don’t know what’s real anymore. That’s the crime he has to pay for.” 

“I know that. But we owe him more than just our love and loyalty, you have to know that. I haven’t forgotten what he’s done for us. I won’t forget it.” 

Nicky saw Joe recognize how serious he was, how much he felt he still owed Booker and Andy. The fire in Joe’s eyes would never go out. He would never forget a betrayal like this, not the way that Nicky could. It’s why Nicky loved him. But there was always more to the story than just their love. 

* * *

“Tell me, Booker, what were they doing for all those years after they found you?” 

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t know. Why the hell does it matter so much to you, anyway?” 

Booker was a pathetic sight. Breathing heavily, hair wet, eyes downcast. He was close to breaking, Quynh could tell. They had been at her safe house on Vancouver Island since she had first caught Booker two weeks ago. And he was reaching the limits of suffering he would willingly endure. It was time to give him the opportunity to end it. 

And that was what she was really here for, beyond the revenge and the pain and the rage, she was here for the truth. She wanted to know, more than anything, what had prevented Booker and Joe and Nicky and _Andy_ from coming to find her. From stopping at nothing to find her. She wanted to know, desperately, what it was exactly that had stopped them. That’s what she was here for. That’s why she had crawled out of the ocean, out of that lab, out of the world and out of herself. To find the why. 

And she was going to find the why, one way or the other. 


	2. The Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She knew very little at that moment, but just then she knew that he was drowning just like her. They would drown together under Andromache's averted gaze." 
> 
> Quynh and Booker have a talk. The other immortals complete a job, and tension grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning (no spoilers): There's a very brief reference to domestic violence and sexual coercion towards the end of the chapter (see the end notes for a more detailed warning).

Eventually, Quynh stopped dreaming. At first the dreams had been all she had, a brief respite from the cycle of _water-pain-breath-water-darkness_. She cursed and screamed and dreamed of all the deadly, horrible things she would do to the men who had thrown her into the ocean. She would cleanse the Earth of them. Just her and Andromache, together and alone and at peace. Finally at peace.

And she dreamed of Andromache. Andromache fighting, Andromache bleeding, Andromache trapped here with her. She dreamed of Andromache when she first met her, her beautiful lips bleeding in the sun, waking up again when she got shot in the heart with an arrow. She had staggered backwards, and then suddenly her whole face seemed to crack open as she smiled, like she had found water after a long time in the desert. 

Andromache was still like water in the desert to her, even when she was miles under the sea. 

But as the memories began to fade, the dreams went with them. Sometimes she saw things outside of her dreamless days that were not darkness. By the turn of the nineteenth century she could even open her eyes as she screamed and thrashed against the coffin. Sometimes she saw fish, sometimes nets, sometimes trash, sometimes nothing at all. But then something caught her eye. Whether it was a flash in the pan of her sight or her dreams she could not say. It felt like a breeze against the Mediterranean, and it looked like a fighter. As quickly as the vision had come it faded, just like everything else in her murky prison. But then she saw it again. And again. And again. It kept happening until every dream and every memory was saturated with fragments of a life she did not recognize. In some of her brief glimpses of the world above her she saw Nicolo and Yusuf on the banks of a river, reading back to back. Then she saw Andromache moving with them, searching high and low for their new recruit. She saw a man hanging from a rope above some nameless battlefield in Russia and then coming back to life. She saw him battle his way back home, bringing his grief and terror with him. And suddenly, as suddenly as she had seen him, she knew his name: Sebastian. He was French. He was living with his wife and his three sons outside of Normandy. His family could barely stand to look at him with how he never aged a day. She saw him find Andromache, Nicolo, and Yusuf. She saw them start, infinitesimally, to let go of her. She saw him come back to his house and weep. She saw him keep weeping. At his wife’s grave. Then his son’s grave. Then another. And another. And another. 

When she saw this man, she felt something snap within her connection to the others. And suddenly she no longer dreamt of Andromache. She no longer saw her, felt her, remembered her. She felt her connection to Andromache not just fade, but snap like a branch that was stepped on. And she knew it, she didn’t know how she knew it but she did. She knew it was Andromache’s choice not to see her in her dreams. 

And she knew very little at that moment, but she knew that this French man hanging on a battlefield and weeping over graves was drowning just like her. They would drown together under Andromache’s averted gaze. 

* * *

It took a long time for Quynh to drag Booker from the shed to the main house. She pulled him by the tie around his wrists, slowly but surely dragging him through the rocks along the path to the back porch. By the time he got there, his whole shirt was covered in blood and dirt. The house itself was lit up with lights and candles, casting shadows on the pine trees in the yard. It was almost beautiful. 

Booker was so out of it he almost didn’t notice the water and buttered toast that were laid out in front of the seat she threw him into. He looked up and raised his eyebrows, hoping to get some answers from Quynh, but she only returned a shrug. 

“So… how am I supposed to eat this?” He gestured to his tied hands. 

“I am comfortable assuming you’ve eaten under more adverse circumstances?” She raised her eyebrows and gestured to the weapons locked in a cabinet that she’d stolen from his safe house. 

He nodded. “Fair enough.” 

Quynh gave a small smile at that and sat down across the table from him. She moved with surprising grace for someone who had been trapped at the bottom of the ocean for 500 years, but there was still an essential tension coiled within her, like she was always getting ready to run. 

The two of them sat in uneasy silence as Booker drank the water with both hands, still shaky and nauseated. It might’ve been the best water he’d ever tasted. 

“I suppose you would like to know why I have brought you here?” Her voice startled Booker out of his reverie over the glass of water. 

“I think I can guess.” 

“It might not be what you expect.” 

“Oh? How so? Was the weeks of torture just for fun? Or is this the good-cop part of the routine?” He was trying to remain calm and find a way out of this, but he couldn’t quite keep the weeks of bitterness from seeping into his voice. 

She nodded in acknowledgement, but her brows creased at the strange expression. 

Booker rolled his eyes. “I guess that phrase wasn’t really in use in the 1400s. It means that you’ve been cruel to me so far and it hasn’t worked, so you’re trying to be nice to me now.” 

She laughed, but it came out sort of strangled. “You are much savvier than I think I gave you credit for, Sebastian.” 

He bristled. “My name’s Booker.” 

She took his hostility in stride. “Okay. You’re full of surprises, then, Booker.” 

He finally set the water down and looked directly at her. “If you’re trying to bait the rest of them into coming here, it won’t work. They won’t be coming for me for another 100 years, if they ever come for me at all.” 

She gave him that strange half smile again. “I know. I am not trying to bait them into coming to get you. Rest assured I will find them when I am ready. You were just... a convenient target.” 

In spite of himself, her answer surprised him. “You were just looking for an outlet, then?” 

“And you were as good a target as any.” 

He picked up the toast and attempted to take a bite. 

“That many years of suffering requires an answer. I will get it, one way or the other. And you are always looking to be punished, are you not?” 

Now it was his turn to give a startled laugh. “Fair enough.” 

After a long pause she spoke. “When they first threw me under the ocean, Booker, the only thing I had was hope. The hope that the others would never stop looking for me. And then they gave it up. What could I possibly have had, after that was gone?” Quynh’s eyes were suddenly more expressive, darker with the shadows of grief, than Booker had ever seen them. 

“They never stopped looking for you, other things just got in the way sometimes. I got in the way. Nile got in the way. But they never stopped looking.” 

She eyed him wearily, that tension clear as day across her body. “They stopped dreaming of me. Given time, they will stop dreaming of you too.”

* * *

Nile found Nicky as she had every night, staring out onto the street from the balcony of their rented apartment, slowly smoking a hand rolled cigarette. It was well past 2am, but the sky was barely dark, that strange gray-yellow hue of the midnight sun.

After much bickering, the four of them had decided not to look for Booker and, instead, to take a small job looking for the missing child of an English diplomat in Helsinki. It chafed at Nile’s sensibilities that it was just this teenager’s proximity to power and money that brought him to their attention at all, but it was a well-paying job, and they were short on cash. 

The dreams hadn’t stopped. Every night, like clockwork, Nile had woken with a start from some dream of drowning, being slashed open, falling down and down and down into nothingness. She could sense the despair radiating from the figures in these dreams, the certainty that they were all alone. That they were to blame. She was sleep deprived and stressed out, and she could feel the anger and resentment of the dreams starting to creep into her waking life. 

“The dream was different today.” Nicky spoke softly, trying not to wake Andy and Joe again. He wordlessly offered the cigarette to Nile. It wasn’t a habit she liked to indulge, but, like many things she had picked up in the military, it stuck with her. 

She held it in between her fingers and took a long drag. “Mine was too. It was more… fragmented. It felt like the violence wasn’t coming from one place or time.” 

“Exactly.” 

“Nicky, I can’t shake the feeling that these dreams are supposed to mean something, or that they’re trying to tell me something.” 

“I know, Nile. But Joe and Andy are still not on board. We don’t know what we’re going to find, if and when we go looking. We need more time, and we need to finish this job.” 

“We’re going in circles chasing some spoiled teenager. What if we don’t have more time?” She could feel the buzz of the nicotine start to course through her, making her serene but wound up. Like she very calmly wanted to run. 

He sighed. “Nile, I know you’re new to this, but when it comes to Booker and Quynh, these are sensitive topics. If we tell Andy about Quynh, that is not a box we will be able to close again. It is not just a matter of loyalty or of doing what’s right.” 

“But it is about doing what’s right. It is about loyalty. Andy doesn’t _have_ more time. Doesn’t she deserve the chance to forgive Booker? To see Quynh again? I don’t want her to die without having any sense of resolution. I don’t wanna live with that for the rest of my life, however long it may be. And I don’t think you and Joe do, either.” 

He took a breath. “This is more complicated than you can possibly know right now. Think of your family in Chicago. Think of all the history, all the resentments, all the stories. The baggage you have with your family. Now think of that, multiplied by hundreds, thousands of years. If Quynh is really alive, that is what we are dealing with here, with the five of us. With Quynh and Andy.” 

That number stung. She felt the weeks of exhaustion and anger, the overwhelming sense of grief and unfairness, rise up. Her chest felt tight. She took another drag and spoke firmly: “don’t bring them into this, Nicky. I will never see them again. I can let go of those resentments because I know that the time I had with them matters more than just, just holding onto those feelings. Why can’t the rest of you see the value of the time you might have left with them?” 

She put out the cigarette and walked back into the apartment. He didn’t follow.

* * *

“So what’s the deal with your shooting stance?” 

Booker’s question shocked Quynh out of her silence across the table. “I’m sorry?” 

He carefully put his toast down on the plate. “When you ambushed me in my apartment. The way you shoot guns and arrows. Your feet are crossed, like in an ‘X’.” He crossed his fingers across each other to demonstrate. “And you lean into your shot with your torso. So I thought you wouldn’t hit me. But you’re still accurate.” 

“I taught myself how to shoot when I was a girl. I suppose I was not concerned about the proper stance.” They lapsed into a moment of silence. 

“So where did you grow up?” As always, Booker broke it. 

She laughed again. “I don't even think where I’m from exists anymore. Do you know where the Cầu river is?” 

He shook his head. “I don’t. We never really went to Vietnam, after… well, you.” 

“Not even for the war? You are French, are you not?” She gave him a mischievous smile. 

“Joe, Nicky, and I did. And I’m hardly French in the modern sense of the word.” He waved his hand at himself and picked up his toast again, willing his stomach to behave. Then her words really sunk in. “Wait, you heard about that?” 

“I may have been under a rock for the last 500 years, but I do know what the internet is.” She rose from her chair and walked into the kitchen. “I was able to figure it out after a few months of trying, anyway.” 

Booker laughed at that. 

“The Cầu runs through modern-day North Vietnam. I was born there, in the Thái Nguyên, a very long time ago, when it was a very different place. I taught myself to shoot a bow and arrow. I came of age fighting the Han armies, so I was more concerned with moving around enough to not get shot by a different archer. I prioritized speed and power over accuracy. It became my specialty,” she gave a fierce grin. “It is a gift to be underestimated.”

She returned to the porch, offering Booker a silver flask with an elaborately engraved _Q_ on it. “Drink this. It will help with the shaking.” She gestured to where his hands bounced on the table. 

He gratefully took a swig and winced. Aquavit. Go figure. “And that’s how you met Andy?” 

“In a sense.” 

He found himself eager to change the subject. “So that’s a part of your power, right? Your shooting stance?” 

She perked up again. “No one ever sees it coming.” 

He smiled, and for the first time it was sort of genuine. “I bet not.” 

* * *

Nile felt like she was more tired than she’d ever been in her life, and that was saying something. The dreams had gotten more violent after she and Nicky’s last conversation a few days ago, and their frequent nightmares awakened Joe and Andy with more regularity. They were growing more and more irritable with each other. Just that morning, Nile had gotten into a passive aggressive fight with Andy about drinking all the coffee Nile had _just_ bought and not even gotten the chance to try.

And the mission was not going well. They were still in Helsinki, slowly working their way down a street behind a building supply store in Jätkäsaari, halfway across the city from their apartment. With evening traffic, it had taken them almost an hour to get here, and their spoiled target was probably long gone. 

Joe, who spoke the best Finnish, was uncharacteristically in the lead. As he rounded a corner past a hardware shop, he suddenly perked up. He gestured to Nicky, putting his index finger to the center of his forehead and then pointing to a tapas bar across the street. Nicky laughed, unholstered his gun and swung around Joe to take the lead. Andy turned to Nile and rolled her eyes. Still unwilling to let go of her irritation from the morning, Nile only gave her a nod. 

Joe turned to Nicky. “We only get the money if he returns unharmed.” 

Nicky gave him a pat on the shoulder. “I know, I know.” 

Andy turned to them and gestured to the ax discreetly strapped to her shoulders. “No promises on his friends, though.” Nicky laughed again and then clambered up the fire escape next to the building in front of them, pulling out his M24 and loading it once he reached the roof. 

The three of them continued on into the bar where Clive, the spoiled target, was gathered around a card game with his equally spoiled friends. 

In their days of digging, they had found Clive’s ex-girlfriend, Birgget, a Finnish high schooler he had met while his father was posted at the British Consulate. Birgget had accused Clive of hitting her several times during their arguments, threatening to harm her, her family, and her pet cat, and coercing her into sex. Clive hadn’t been kidnapped or disappeared, he had simply run from the consequences of his actions. 

Joe went in first, hiding his weapons and chatting with the bartender in order to distract him. 

“Clive!” Andy announced as she stomped in. 

Clive looked up from his card game, a beer in his hand, and frowned when he noticed Andy. “And who the hell are you?” 

Andy gave him a look that only Nile and Joe recognized as very dangerous. 

Nile, feeling awkward and sensing she was not going to be needed for this part of the extraction, went to join Joe at the bar. “How much do you want to bet that we’re the first brown people to come into this bar today?” 

Joe laughed. “Well, it is a tapas bar.” 

“Do Spaniards count as people of color?” 

“You know, they certainly didn’t during the Crusades.” 

Just then Andy slammed her ax down on Clive’s card game. Nile couldn’t make out what she said to him, but she _could_ hear his indignant answer. 

“I didn’t do nothing to her that she didn’t want! It’s not my fault she was a little bit of a whore.” His friends jeered at that, right as Andy swung her labrys back down on the table, next to his hand. She punched one of them squarely in the face. 

Joe stepped forward before the bartender could intervene. Nile couldn’t understand what he said, but whatever it was, it got the man to back off for a minute. 

“You’re coming with me, motherfucker. Daddy’s been looking for you.” Andy grabbed Clive by the back of his shirt and towed him out of the bar, Nile and Joe following behind. 

A couple of Clive's friends followed, angrily shouting at Andy. A swift kick to the shins from Nile brought one of them down, and then the angry patrons took care of the rest. 

In spite of that brief release, Nile was getting increasingly angry. Why did Joe, Nicky, and Andy seem so calm around this guy? She had known plenty of his type in her life, and she knew two things for sure about them: 1) they never, ever changed, and 2) the ones who were rich and white never faced any consequences. 

“You can’t do this, I’m a British citizen!” Clive was screaming at the top of his lungs as Andy dragged him towards the car. 

Nicky’s well-timed shot at his feet shut him up.

* * *

Clive’s father was grateful for his safe return, and assured them that they would be well compensated despite his son’s complaints. He also let them know that he would take steps to make sure word of the incident at the bar didn’t travel far. They didn’t mention Copley’s involvement. 

“And what about Birgget? Will she be able to press charges, if she wants to?” Nile surprised herself by speaking up as they were preparing to leave the consulate. 

“Due to diplomatic immunity laws, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” One of the aides responded to her. Clive’s father just glared. 

“What my son did was undeniably stupid, and I assure you he will answer for his behavior, but he’s a young man. We don’t want to ruin his whole life after one,” he waved his hand, “...regrettable decision.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” It wasn’t like Nile to get this worked up, but something about the day, this whole stupid job and the dreams and Andy’s coffee and Birgget’s resignation and the uneasiness slowly eating her alive, made her snap. 

“Nile.” Andy stepped in between her and the diplomat. She leveled her with a cool glare. “Let’s go.” 

She didn’t back down. Clive’s father just stared back at her, willing her to challenge him. She knew she couldn’t. It made her want to even more. 

It was Joe who stepped into the middle. He spoke quickly, urgently. “Nile, I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be, but we can’t do anything about this right now. Please, have patience.” 

It took every ounce of her will, but eventually she nodded and backed away. Clive’s father smiled. She didn’t look back. 

“Later, we will find a way.” Joe caught up to her and whispered it under his breath. Nile could tell he was trying not to be heard by Andy. Nicky, who was closer but uncharacteristically quiet, simply nodded. 

* * *

“Nile, that can’t happen again.” Andy was packing her clothes while Joe and Nicky showered, as was their custom. 

Nile turned from where she was double checking the apartment to make sure they didn’t leave anything behind. “What are you talking about?” 

“You challenging the diplomat like that. It can’t happen. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to _be_ angry, but we can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves like that. Especially right now.” 

Nile had been feeling calmer after Joe’s intervention and Nicky’s surprising support, but just like that, her anger was back and as radiant as ever. “Oh? And what was that bullshit at the bar then?” 

She paused. “I was angry too, of course I was, and it made me careless. It was pure luck that he was even willing to help with the incident at the bar. I got carried away there, and that’s my fault, but we can’t be putting ourselves out there like that right now. Who knows what Merrick did with our information? That job we were offered a few weeks ago is proof enough of that. And Copley can only do so much. We have to act with restraint if we’re going to be taking these jobs.” 

“What the fuck good are these jobs if they lead to absolutely nothing?!” 

“They lead to money, which can help us take better jobs.” 

“Don’t condescend to me, Andy.” 

“I wasn’t condescending to you, Nile.” 

“Oh? Because that’s what it feels like you’ve all been doing since Nicky and I started having these dreams!” Her voice took on a higher pitch as she imitated their voices. “‘ _Just wait, Nile.’ ‘You can’t understand, Nile.’ ‘This isn’t about you, Nile.’ ‘Hold off, Nile.’ ‘Let the frat boy get away with abusing his girlfriend, Nile.’ ‘It’s about the money, Nile.’ ‘Be smart, Nile.’ ‘Don’t do that, Nile.’_ ” By the end she was almost shouting, her frustration getting the better of her as it finally found an outlet. 

Andy sighed. “Nile, we’re not condescending to you, at least not on purpose. And I’m sorry if we have. But these dreams… it’s so complicated. I know it seems unfair to be left out of the loop like this, but there _are_ just some things you don’t have the context to understand. That you might never have the context to understand.” Her voice got more and more pinched as she spoke. 

Nile ignored it. “I have acted with more grace than I ever thought I was capable of. When you shut me out, I tried to understand. When you condescended to me, I tried to understand. When you stole my shit and drank my coffee so you could have the energy to drink yourself silly again after telling me to ignore my violent, recurring nightmares of people _you_ rejected, I tried to understand!” She felt her control slipping, which made her even angrier. “You think I don’t understand loss? I may be new to this, but in case you forgot I am currently losing my family as we speak. I have lost my father. I have lost everything I have ever known, everything I’ve ever thought was true, everything I ever imagined for myself is _gone_! And you want to talk to me about how I can’t understand your loss? While I’m currently trying to help you? Well forgive me if I want you to see Booker and Quynh before you fucking die, Andy!” 

At Quynh’s name, Andy flinched like she’d been slapped. “Nile, even if you are dreaming of Quynh, I will never see her again. Don’t give me hope. I know you understand that.” 

“We have to go. Just give me some space before I say something else I regret.” 

The four of them flew back to the French safe house. Nile and Andy didn’t speak a word to each other the entire way. 

* * *

Eventually, she stopped dreaming. Or rather, she forced herself to stop dreaming. Or rather, she taught herself to stop dreaming. She dreamed and dreamed and dreamed until the world blurred into fantasy and relief. And then she stopped. And then she stopped again. 

At first, the dreams were all she had. They were brief glimpses into a world where she and Quynh were still together. Where they still had each other. But then they got violent. Dreams where she was trapped under the ocean instead of Quynh. Or dreams where she slowly murdered every last member of the priesthood, every religious man, until there was no one left but her and Quynh. Together in peace, finally. Sometimes, in her dreams, she murdered Yusuf and Nicolò . Just for the crime of being happy. Of having each other. Sometimes her dreams were beautiful. She dreamt of when she and Quynh first met, finally together in that high desert. Quynh shot her through the heart with an arrow and it was like falling in love. Those were the worst dreams. 

Eventually, the dreams faded. Sometimes they still came, like a cry from the depths of the ocean. _I’m still here!_ But then they faded again, as quickly as they came. She didn’t want to forget about Quynh, but so much of immortality was about forgetting. She could barely remember her mother. She could barely remember the first woman she killed. She didn’t want to forget, but she didn’t have as much control in that respect as she liked to think. 

She only started dreaming again in earnest when they found Booker. Her dreams of Booker and her dreams of Quynh were always intertwined. One minute she was hanging from a noose over a Russian battlefield, and the next she was drowning in a coffin, suffocating over and over again. She saw Booker and Quynh give themselves over to despair, slowly but surely letting the last shreds of their sanity and will slip away. She and Nicky and Joe were so close to finding Booker, but in her heart she knew it would come at the expense of finding Quynh.

And then Lykon appeared. 

She had never dreamt of a dead person before. Not even her mother, or the woman she killed (weren’t they one and the same?). But suddenly, as clear as day, there he was. Standing where Booker had stood a moment before. He didn’t speak, but she could tell he wanted to. He was trying to. She understood he was trying to talk about Quynh. And then she was hit by a wave of grief and despair so powerful it almost knocked her out of sleep. But it didn’t. Lykon held her there, she knew. And she knew she didn’t want to answer whatever question he was about to ask. _Don’t make me do this_ , she thought desperately. _Don’t make me tell you. Don’t make me think about you, or her. I can’t do this. If you want me to wake up tomorrow and find this kid, then don’t make me do this. If you want me to get out of bed ever again, don’t make me do this. I won’t do this._

 _It’s okay, Andromache._ A voice answered her without speaking. 

She had woken up then, as gently as if she had barely dreamt it at all. And she knew then that she wouldn’t dream of them again. Nicky and Joe’s dreams led them to Booker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning (with spoilers): Clive, the person the group is being paid to search for, alludes to domestic violence & sexual coercion against his Finnish girlfriend, Birgget. When she attempted to press charges he claimed diplomatic immunity and disappeared into the city. Nothing is explicit, but he does use some slurs when referring to her, and he basically gets away with it. But he gets beat up by Andy (a little bit). 
> 
> Conflict is so much fun to write, unfortunately for everyone else >:) 
> 
> Whew, apologies on the delay! I went out of town last week and then work/life got busy, but I have a much more thorough outline of the story now. It's now looking like it's going to be a series of 3 stories that continue where this one will leave off. This first installment should still be 10-15 chapters, but this story has taken on a life of it's own as I've been writing it! 
> 
> I'm about to start training to be an ASL interpreter, and because of that I've been really interested in the idea of nonverbal communication between the immortals ever since I saw the movie. This chapter was my first attempt at it. My take on it is loosely based on American Sign Language with some elements of Universal Signs. The sign Joe gives Nicky is a modified version of the pejorative sign for a 'hard-headed' or 'close-minded person' made by forming the hand into a fist with the pinky finger out, and then putting it to the forehead. Basically, he's saying they found the asshole, but less severe than that. 
> 
> Next chapter should hopefully come much more quickly! Let me know what you think :)


	3. The Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile makes a decision.

They went back to the same French safehouse as before. It made everything worse. 

Nile and Andy were still barely speaking to each other, and the dreams just kept on rolling. Nile had started to see a new figure in her dreams. She thought that it must have been Lykon, given that he appeared to be African and wearing a very old style of armor. At first he had arrived in a dream about Quynh and Booker, standing on the steps of a house that Nile couldn’t recognize. It seemed like he was trying to speak to her or to them, but no one could hear him. He looked Nile right in the eye and a flash of surprise crossed his face, but it quickly faded into a warm smile. She knew right then that it was him, as sure as she knew her own name. She tried to speak, but then awoke. It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in weeks. And now when she dreamed of Quynh cutting Booker open over and over again, she could also see visions of evergreen trees and moss and lichen growing on craggy rocks. _So, they were near the coast. Thanks, Lykon._

She didn’t tell Nicky about Lykon’s appearance, even though they still found each other on the patio to share a midnight smoke, this time in silence. After the Helsinki incident, Nicky had been unusually withdrawn and taciturn. Not even Joe seemed to be able to get a rise out of him. Nile had taken to spending a lot of time in her room or out in the grounds of the compound, trying to clear her head and stay away from the tense energy of the main house. Which is how she found the chapel. 

Now, Nile tried to drown out the sound of the planes and focus on the candles in front of her. When she finally thought she'd regained focus, another one rattled the walls of the chapel and reverberated into the soles of her feet. And then another. And another. And another. Of course. She was in the kind of mood where everything, from the color of the sky to the smell of the Earth, rubbed her the wrong way. She had been that way for what felt like weeks, but since landing in Paris it had gotten progressively worse, helped along by Andy’s reticence and Nicky’s turmoil. It felt weird to be here without Booker. It felt weird not to tell Andy about Quynh. Or to tell her and have her not believe it. It all just made her angrier. But the decision currently in front of her was one she had to make with a clear mind and an open heart. Which is what had led her to this pathetic chapel on the outskirts of the estate. 

_Okay, get it together._ She closed her eyes and tried to resume her prayer. She hummed the psalm, imagining it in her grandmother’s lilting voice. 

_Hide your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me._

It didn’t feel the same. She wondered if it would ever feel the same again.

Once, shortly after Booker disappeared but before the dreams started, she had asked Nicky if he still prayed in churches.

“Oh, yes,” he had answered. 

“Really? Even after all this time?”

“Well, I’m not praying to God, Nile. I haven’t prayed to God in a very long time. I don’t know that I ever will again.” 

“Then why pray?”

“It helps me focus and calm down. Like meditating. I like to think I’m talking to ones I have loved and lost before. Joe still prays to his God sometimes, but I just pray to dead people.” 

“Isn’t that basically what Catholicism is, anyway?”

Nicky had laughed at that, delighted. “For the lapsed ones it is, I suppose.” 

She looked around at the old chapel. It was in a sorry state, stone slowly crumbling down the walls and onto the floor. Whatever pews or alters there had been were long gone, and all that remained was a few steps leading to an approximation of a stage. It didn’t feel like the churches of her childhood, warm and familiar, but it was as good as she was going to get. Besides, she wasn’t here to feel God, whatever that meant to her now. She was here to make a decision.

_So make it._

Nile stiffly rose to her feet, thinking a change in position might help her in the decisiveness department. She promptly stumbled into the wall, wobbly and sore. She thought that maybe, if she prayed to her father and her grandmother and Sam and Nyomee, maybe she would get an answer. 

Just as she regained her balance, a pigeon flew down from its nest in the rafters. It was white with brown spots, almost like a cow. Nile jumped backwards with a shout, startled. The pigeon landed on a step and looked at her, bobbing its little head. The bird seemed like it was just as surprised to see her as she was to see it. Nile took another step backwards. They looked at one another from across the candles, both frozen in indecision. 

* * *

Nile had always been scared of birds, ever since her babysitter let her and her brother watch _The Birds_ when she was seven. She had been so scared she would jump and hide behind her parents’ legs every time a bird got too close to her. She felt like they were watching her everywhere she went, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike. Pigeons and seagulls were the worst offenders, given that they were equal parts fearless and stupid and also _everywhere_. Her fear was so paralyzing that she wouldn’t even cross a street if birds were near her, which they often were. 

Her father, whose vast love extended to any and all animals, decided that some gentle exposure therapy was in order. He roped her mother and brother into a Sunday trip to Rainbow Beach, where pigeons and seagulls were in ample supply. Nile was terrified and miserable from the very beginning. 

“Hey stupid head, you get murdered by birds yet?” Her brother, whose age and lack of awareness had spared him from the worst of the movie, had immediately gone to get an ice cream cone from the concession stand. He had returned only to taunt her. 

“Jake, shut the hell up!” 

“Language,” her mother called sternly. 

Her brother stood up and cupped a hand to his mouth, shouting “hey birds, are you ready to come eat Nile?” 

Nile panicked and shoved him backwards. He fell and lost his grip on his ice cream, which dropped into the sand. This resulted in two things: one, her brother crying himself hoarse and kicking sand at Nile furiously, and two, even more seagulls and pigeons coming near them, drawn by the promise of the free ice cream cone. She had sat completely still on her beach towel, covered in sand but entirely focused on not startling any of the curious birds around her. 

“Nile, why don’t you try looking at them?” Her dad was looking at her with his characteristic mix of adoration and mischief. 

“But if I look at them they’re going to come closer to me!” 

“That’s the point, dummy,” her brother added from his vigil over his fallen ice cream cone. 

She threw sand at him in response. 

Her mother sighed and pulled her brother away towards the lake. 

“Look, Nile, I know you’re scared, and that’s okay. But I’m not telling you to look at them because I want them to come closer. I’m telling you to look at them so you can see what they really are.” 

“But daaaad, they’re gonna eat me!” She knew she wasn’t being rational, but the primacy of her fear was her last defense. 

Her father shrugged, and the two of them sat in silence again. Then a brown and white pigeon landed near them, pecking at the remains of the cone lying in the sand. 

“Nile, look at that bird! What color do you think it is?”

She found her desire to retain her father’s limited attention was stronger than her fear of the bird. She turned and looked at it. The world didn’t end. In fact, the bird didn’t even notice. “It’s, uh, I think it’s white and brown. But it’s got spots.” 

“Kinda like a cow, right?” 

“Yeah!” She giggled. “Like a cow!”

The longer she looked at the pigeon, the more Nile found she wanted to really _see_ it. It was kind of beautiful, actually. It stood out from the rest of the gray and black birds, with white feathers spotted with brown markings. It was almost dainty, the way it crossed the sand in little circles. It looked up, with its strange, round eyes, and Nile gasped. She didn’t panic though. Not even when it came closer. 

Her father watched her watch the pigeon, a smile on his face. “See? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. It’s even kinda pretty, huh?” 

The pigeon cooed, as if in response. 

“Yeah, it is.” She stretched out her cramping legs. “Dad, can we go get some ice cream now?” 

“Sure thing, honey.” 

* * *

Two days after their father’s funeral, her mother found her on the fire escape of their apartment, watching a mourning dove call from the power lines above them. 

“You know, pigeons are actually doves too. That’s why your father was so convinced you wouldn’t stay scared of them.” 

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that.” Her voice sounded far away, even to her own ears. 

Her mom approached the railing, keeping a careful distance as she did. “You know, I’m not the bird watcher your father is--”

_“--was._ ” 

“I’m not the bird watcher your father was, but I remember some of what he taught me over the years. It was one of the things that made me love him. How much love he had for animals. He loved everything so, _so_ much.” Tears rolled down her mother’s eyes, easy as anything. She didn’t try to stop them. 

Nile prided herself on having more control than that. She hadn’t cried at all since she first heard the news. Instead she was coiled tight, like a cable ready to snap. It was a point of pride for her. At least _she_ could keep it together, unlike everyone else. 

If her mother noticed her standoffishness, she didn’t show it. “He loved you and your brother so much. More than anything else, and that’s saying something!” 

Nile didn’t respond. She just gripped the railing tighter and held her breath. 

“He would want you to think of him, when you see those little birds. Like he’s watching over you. Like how he taught you to look at them. That was his way of showing you how much he loved you. Teaching you to see the world the way he did. As so full of beauty.” She paused and looked over at Nile. “Honey, I know you’re hurting, but I’m still here for you. The birds are still here. Your brother and your grandma and your uncles and aunties are here for you. We all love you very much. Your father would want you to know that.” She squeezed her shoulder and walked back inside. 

Nile didn’t release her breath until she heard the click of the back door shutting. 

* * *

Nile looked at the brown pigeon in this strange chapel and she thought of her father. The tears still didn’t come, they never really had, but she felt an honest pit in the bottom of her stomach. The pigeon was still beautiful in its own odd way, even in the dim light of the chapel. It looked at her with its round, strange eyes, seemingly unafraid. She found she wasn’t afraid anymore, either. It cooed, and it sounded a little bit like the mourning dove on the wire.

Maybe she didn’t need prayer. Her father had taught her to look, really look, at these birds. He taught her to really look at everything, to see _vision_ as the antidote to fear. 

They had all been running from their own sight for so long. 

_This didn’t start with us, but it can end with us. Please, Nile._

Her brother had said that to her when she told him she wanted to join the Marines after high school. He had begged, pleaded. He had cried. For the first time since their father’s funeral, she was the one to make her brother cry. 

_You think they care about you? You think they’re gonna care about you any more than they cared about dad? You don’t know shit, Nile! They’re gonna chew you up and spit you out. Things will never change for us! Not like this!_

She thought of Andy and Joe and Nicky on the other side of the yard, trying to sleep without dreaming. She thought of Booker and Quynh, drowning on dry land. 

Maybe her brother was right. Had always been right. This didn’t start with her, but it could end with her. 

She made her decision. 

* * *

Nile had always jealously guarded her own space and time, even through all the cramped apartments and military bases. When she was young, she would retreat into the closet in her and her brother’s room and create a fort out of her sheets, sitting and reading until the buzzing in her mind quieted enough to allow her to face the world again. As an adult, she had often retreated into her headphones to find solitude. But she had never gotten her own apartment before. So, as soon as Copley got her a foolproof fake identity and was sworn to secrecy on pain of grievous bodily harm, she got her own apartment in Paris that the others didn’t know about. She wanted to feel bad about it, but she had to believe that they couldn’t spend an eternity with one another without getting their own space from time to time. So she didn’t. 

Now, she was more grateful than ever that she’d gotten that apartment. She packed as quickly and as quietly as she could. She shoved her clothes and shoes and phones into a duffle and she only called an Uber as soon as she was certain she had written everything she could possibly say. She left the note under Andy’s bedroom door. 

The driver, mercifully, didn’t try to talk to her. Nile watched the drab apartment blocks slowly give way to ancient buildings, the city glowing in the early dawn. She collapsed onto the stiff couch as soon as she got inside, breathing heavily. She couldn’t think. She was almost giddy with relief and rebellion. She decided she would start the search for Booker and Quynh after a nap. 

Nile was awakened an indeterminable amount of time later by a soft knock at the door. She pulled her handgun out of her bag and slowly approached, almost ripping the door off of its handles in her haste to get this over with. 

“Whoa! Wait, wait, Nile, it’s me, è Nicolo. It’s Nicky.” 

She lowered her gun a little bit. Sure enough, Nicky was standing there with a small gym bag thrown over his shoulder. It looked like he had gotten dressed in the dark, in mismatching colors and two different shoes. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all, but he was the picture of calm. 

“Nicky?” 

He spread his hands in surrender. “The one and only.”

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” 

“I can explain all of that, but it would be easier over coffee than at gunpoint, I think.” 

She considered it, not wanting to let go of the distance she was trying to enforce between them, but the allure of coffee ultimately made her relent. 

Back on the stiff couch, they sat side by side hunched over two large cups of coffee. Nicky did explain, sort of. 

“Nile, I know what you are trying to do. And it’s admirable. But you cannot do it--” 

She held up a hand. “Nicky, if you’re here to try to stop me, you can’t. I have to try and look for them. I won’t be persuaded. I know the risks, and I’ve accepted them. And I’m not doing this to try to punish Andy, even though I’m still angry with her. I’m doing this for Booker and Quynh, and for all of you, and also for myself, I think. But you won’t talk me out of it, so don’t waste your time.” 

“I know that, Nile. And in spite of what you might think we have gotten to know one another, at least a little. I am not here to talk you out of it. I’m here to help you.” 

“Nicky…. That’s very sweet of you, but I need to do this alone. I need to go looking for them, and your involvement will only drag Joe and Andy back into it, and that is the opposite of what I want.” 

“Joe and Andy do not know where we are. And they do not need to know, for as long as this takes us.” 

She almost dropped her coffee. 

Nicky took a breath and continued. “I love Yusuf more than my own life. You know this. And I love Andy dearly, still more than my own life. You also know this. And we all love you. Sometimes I wonder if you know this.” He gave her a sad little smile. “But sometimes, there are things that are bigger than just love. This is one of them.” 

“Nicky, I can’t possibly ask that of you. Joe and Andy haven’t forgiven Booker yet. And it'll be a long time before that happens. They don’t even know that Quynh is potentially alive, or if they do they don’t believe it.” 

“I think you don’t give them enough credit.” 

“I’m just going off of what I’ve seen of them so far. And so far, I don’t think either of them are ready to see Booker or Quynh again.” 

“Well, even if that is the case, we may not have the luxury of the time they need.” 

They both paused, looking at one another across the couch. Nicky was clearly exhausted and tense, holding his limbs close to his torso. He looked stiff. His shirt was wrinkled and hung loosely over his body, like he had thrown it on in a rush. His hair was messy, sticking up at weird angles, and his facial hair was a little overgrown. He sipped his coffee and looked at her with his big, expressive eyes. Nile was reminded of the pigeons. She felt like she was seeing, really _seeing,_ Nicky for the first time. She had to admit, she always looked at him and Joe as a unit. Two parts of a whole. And while that was how they preferred to be seen, she had never really looked at them separately, either. She wondered what she would be seeing if it was Joe sitting across from her now. 

Nicky set his coffee down on the table. “When we first met I told you that we were meant to find each other. And I still believe that that is true. But sometimes we also need to be apart. I… Quynh’s blood is not just on Andromache’s hands. We were careless, all of us. We all failed her. And because of that, we were not always kind to Booker, Andy and Joe and I. We were not fair to him, however foolish he can be. And… a long time ago, Booker helped me, at great risk to himself, in a way I have always tried to repay. He has stayed by our sides for all this time, in spite of our cruelty and indifference. Even though what he did was reprehensible, he has paid his price. The time has come to pay mine, whatever it may be. And I deeply regret that you should be the one to have to pay it. But if this is how it must be, I will be there with you. I am serious about helping you, Nile. Will you let me join you?” 

Nile hadn’t even considered the possibility that he would ask her permission. But then she thought about it for a moment longer and it made perfect sense. Of course he would. It was Nicky. 

“Okay, Nicky. You can join me, if you’re sure about this.” 

“I am sure, Nile.” 

There was a lump in her throat, and suddenly she wanted to be all business. “Okay, so we can’t stay long, but we need time to try and locate them. We need to contact Copley. We need to trace Booker’s last burner phone, make a list of known safehouses, locations that are significant to Quynh. What else?”

Nicky had a mischievous smile on his face. “Nile, have you been seeing anyone else in your dreams lately?”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally we're getting somewhere! I had to set up a lot of backstory before the plot could really get going, so it should start to pick up now. 
> 
> The psalm that Nile recites is Psalm 51:9. Also I love the interpretation of Joe and Nicky's faiths where Joe is the one who still believes, because frankly I don't think Christian doctrine jives well with random people being immortal and also Nicky has big Lapsed CatholicTM energy.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Old Guard fic! What a fun movie. I really wanted to do something exploring Quynh's character and history, what her return to the world might look like, and how it would shape the dynamics and actions of the group going forward. This little story is the result of that! I have it mostly planned out, I'm expecting it to be around 10-ish chapters. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> The title and story is inspired by the poem at the beginning, "Go to the Limits of Your Longing" by Rainer Maria Rilke, from Rilke's Book of Hours.


End file.
